Jaguar
by IndigoWaters
Summary: A new case around the holiday season leaves the team with a difficult decision. Are they willing to put one of their own in jeopardy if it means saving the lives of their loved ones?
1. Chapter One

Special Agent McGee shrugged off his backpack and looked at Tony, crouched beside him behind the couch. "You always come prepared, don't you, McBoy Scout?" Tony whispered hurriedly, searching the bag for more ammo.

"Just following protocol," McGee whispered. "Suspect at three o'clock." They were working on tracking down a suspect in the murder of Petty Officer Marcus Reynolds. The suspect, a Mr. James Harchman, had decided that he would not like to come in for questioning and would rather shoot out his frustrations.

The side door of the house burst open, the 2x4s boarding up the entrance shattering. The agents sprung up from behind the couch, guns drawn. "Federal agents, put down your weapon!" McGee yelled. The suspect didn't flinch, and Tony put a round in Harchman's leg as he saw his pointer finger creeping towards the trigger. He cried out and fell to the ground, his Glock clattering beside him next to the leg of the coffee table. McGee kicked the gun away from Harchman and pulled out his cell phone to call for an ambulance.

The suspect groaned loudly as DiNozzo applied pressure to the wound. "Oh, quit whining- you're not going to die," Tony muttered.

"God- it hurts!" Harchman yelled, balling up his fists and screwing his eyes shut.

"McGee could cause you more pain than this. Shut up." Tony pushed a little harder. "So, did you order the hit on Petty Officer Reynolds?"

"No," the man choked out from between his gritted teeth.

"I know better than that. Convince me!" Tony yelled over the sound of the approaching ambulance.

"Check out my email!" Harchman grunted out as Tony kept pushing harder.

"Just saving a life over here," Tony grinned as the paramedics ran in with a stretcher. McGee grimaced and handed Tony a towel as he prepared to wipe his bloody hands on the front of his jacket.

"Abby has an excellent stain remover," Tony said, shrugging.

"The boss will kill you if you purposely wipe blood on that new vest."

"Good point." Tony nodded and accepted the towel, quickly jerking his hands away from the new bullet-proof vest they had all received the previous day. The old ones were so beaten up that Abby's famous Any Stain Stain- Removal was starting to lose its touch on their vests.

* * *

Back at NCIS, Gibbs strode into the squad room, trusty cup of black coffee in hand. "Talk to me," he muttered, directing his attention at Ziva, the only one of his agents left sitting at their desk.

"Nothing suspicious has come up on Harchman's credit card history, but his last purchase was made at a convenience store across the street from the DC Central Detention facility." Ziva allowed herself to feel very proud- McGee had set up the credit card search before he left with Tony and left her to sift through the numbers.

Gibbs tossed her the keys. "Get the car."

Tony and McGee walked out of the elevator and into the squad room, dumping their backpacks on the ground beside their respective desks. "Where is everyone?" Tony sat down at his desk and flipped through the three missed call memos that had been left on top of his keyboard.

"How many of them are women?" McGee mused, wandering over to Tony's desk and peering over the top of his computer monitor.

"None of them. Well, okay, one. Why does it matter?" Tony huffed, opening the top drawer of his desk and haphazardly sweeping all the memos inside before slamming it shut.

"It doesn't. Just wondering. I was thinking that if maybe you answered some of-" McGee was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Yes, boss?" McGee flipped out his phone and hurried back to his desk to log in.

"Run a search on a Kieth Harchman. Have Abby go through Reynolds' computer again- we need access to his classified files."

"Boss that could take days- we don't have clearance from the Pentagon yet-"

"Now, McGee."

"Uh-" McGee was interrupted by the sound of a dead phone line. Gibbs, in classic Gibbs- fashion, had hung up with McGee mid-sentence.

He opened a new search and entered the name his boss had given him. James Harchman had apparently revealed that he had a brother, although clearly Gibbs didn't know anything yet. He put the search up on the plasma and went down to Abby's lab while the computer combed through hundreds of thousands of names to get an address, phone number, and workplace for the suspect's estranged brother.

* * *

"You have got to be kidding me!" McGee heard Abby yell over the sound of her blasting alternative music.

"What's wrong Abby?" he asked, walking to the back of the lab where she stood perched at a computer, making her way through the day's second Caf-Pow.

"Major Mass Spec is having a hard time identifying the compound on the bottom of Reynold's shoes. It's some kind of fatty acid, but do you have any idea how many kinds of fatty acids exist in the world, McGee? Do you have any idea?"

"No, but I take it it's a lot," he muttered, glancing down at the sample the forensic scientist had prepared and set under the microscope lense.

"You're right!" she huffed, twirling one of her braided ponytails around her finger. "There are hundreds of them and this one is wonky. It's a synthetic, man-made compound that's pretty uncommon. It's some kind of waterproof substance that might have coated the outside of something."

"You'll figure it out," McGee consoled. With a hopeful smile, he pulled a new Caf-Pow out from behind his back. "Would this help?"

"Of course!" Abby beamed, snatching up the drink and taking a few large sips. "I was running low on juice." She paused. "Where's Gibbs?"

"He's running down a lead with Ziva. He wants us to get into Reynolds' classified files. "

"But the Pentagon has totally stonewalled us! We'd have to break through all of their firewalls in order to access them," Abby said.

"Then I guess we're gonna hack the Pentagon today," McGee smiled, pulling up a chair.

* * *

Gibbs and Ziva pulled up to the convenience store and got out of the car. The older agent led the way and both of them approached the building. Gibbs looked at Ziva and nodded- the signal for her to pull out her gun. The lock on the side of the building had been cut and the door frame splintered from where it had been kicked down. Gibbs pulled out his gun from the holster on his hip and glanced at Ziva. She gave him an understanding nod and led the way, nudging the door open with her shoulder.

The interior of the convenience store had been ransacked. Bags of snacks and candy bars were strewn across the floor, shelves had been tipped over, and the windows that led to the back office were smashed. "Clear," Ziva called from the two bathrooms in the front of the store.

"Clear," Gibbs echoed. The store was vacant. He donned a pair of latex gloves and walked into the manager's office. All the drawers of the six filing cabinets had been opened and papers strewn all over the floor in the cramped space. The desk and chair across from it left little room for walking. A printer in the back corner had been smashed and Gibbs noticed a computer tower sitting on the desk, but no monitor.

Ziva stood in the doorway of the office. "Computer's missing," she said.

"Wonder what they were looking for," Gibbs mused.

"Security tapes?" Gibbs asked. He had spotted two cameras outside- one pointing towards the street and the gas pumps out front and the other above the side door.

"Possibly," Ziva said.

Gibbs' phone rang. "Talk, McGee."

"Keith Harchman has a mile- long rap sheet. His most recent offense is attempted murder during a downtown heist. He's currently at DC Central and is scheduled to leave for trial in two hours."

"This isn't about the hit or the files. It's about a jailbreak. Nice work, McGee."

* * *

The elevator dinged and Special Agent Gibbs stepped out, bulky computer monitor in hand. "What do you have for me?" Abby asked, taking a generous gulp from her Caf-Pow.

"It's not for you, Abbs."

"Boss, Keith Harchman and three other unidentified individuals robbed a local fine jewelry store six months ago. The other three remained masked, but Harchman's mask was ripped off and his face exposed to the security camera when he struggled with the clerk for his second gun. He requested solitary confinement once convicted, claiming that he was new to the heist business and other inmates would try to kill him for making the rookie mistakes that he did."

"If this guy is just a rookie, why is somebody trying so hard to break him out?" Gibbs asked, moving from behind the table as Abby put the jewelry store security footage up on the plasma.

"Most of the items stolen were found spread out in various online auctions-"

"Most, McGee?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"All the items except for one." He nodded to Abby, and she put up a picture of a glistening diamond pendant. "This is the most valuable item taken during the heist. It's worth about fifty million dollars to the right buyer."

"How does Petty Officer Reynolds fit in with all this?"

"Oh, he fits in perfectly." Abby jumped in and stepped in front of McGee to get control of the other computer. "The petty officer was making scheduled visits to two death row inmates as part of a counseling program that he was placed in for his anger management. He had quite the temper, but I guess with his military clearance, anger management classes get pretty interesting." She shrugged.

"The point, Abbs?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"The point, Gibbs, is that he had an access card from DC Central so that he could gain access to the building without going through lengthy visitors checks every time." Abby grinned and put up a picture of the access card.

"He was killed for his pass," Gibbs muttered.

"Precisely." Abby and McGee looked at each other and grinned.

"Nice work. I need you two to pull security footage off the computer tower." Gibbs motioned towards the object resting on a table at the front of the lab.

"When do you need it?" McGee asked.

"Five minutes ago," Gibbs called as he strode out of the lab. Autopsy awaited.

* * *

"Ah, Jethro." Ducky smiled as Gibbs walked into autopsy. "This case proves my theory that if you ask the right questions, you will get the right answers." He paused and walked over the examination table where Petty Officer Reynolds lay. "I reexamined the area on the petty officer's hand where I found the fatty acid Abby is so struggling to identify. And I found that it was not a topical application at all- there is a microscopic hole in Reynolds' hand where this substance was injected.

"Injected, Duck? What is it?"

"I don't know. Abigail thought it was some sort of waterproofing material, and I believe she is right. I took a sample from the area and had Mr. Palmer examine it under the microscope. It has indeed waterproofed the cells around the injection site."

"What does that mean?" Gibbs took a sip of his coffee and leaned over the body to examine the site that Ducky was pointing out to him.

"That's the confusing part, Jethro. I don't know. I think you're looking for an experimental trial of some sorts."

"Thanks, Duck." Gibbs called.

* * *

"Boss," Tony called as Gibbs was on his way up to Vance's office.

"What, DiNozzo?"

"Some Pentagon paper-pushers just dropped off some of the classified files Abby and McGee were trying to gain access to. Said they were 'too sensitive to have a digital copy of'." Tony said, gesturing to the large box of files behind him. "This one caught my eye."

He handed it over to Gibbs, who squinted at the title a few moments before glancing up at DiNozzo. "Operation Jaguar?" he asked.

"It's an experimental program that was attempting to test a substance that had the ability to essentially 'waterproof' a Navy diver's cells, allowing them to stay submerged for longer periods of time."

"MTAC, now."


	2. Chapter Two

Gibbs strode out of Director Vance's office and rushed down the stairs. "Gear up," he called to his team. This demand was quickly followed by Ziva, Tony, and McGee on his heels as they walked towards the elevator. "Director wants us to supervise the transfer of Harchman's brother from the prison to the courthouse and make sure no one tries anything funny."

The team nodded. "This one's on the down low," he added, stepping into the elevator. "Don't wanna spook 'em."

* * *

The team pulled up to the convenience store across the street from DC Central. "How we gonna play this, boss?" McGee asked.

"Carefully," Gibbs muttered. He waited for the team to get their gear from the trunk. "The escort van will be here within 10 minutes. We work in coordination with DC Central security- act like there's nothing wrong. If nothing happens, good. If something happens, be ready."

The team nodded, walking across the street and positioning themselves in line next to the prison security guards. And waited.

Five minutes later, a prison transport van pulled up and backed into the front gate. A man was led out of the front of the prison, flanked by two armed guards. He was wearing a suit that wasn't quite the right size and carrying a few files tucked under his arm, but he had been stripped of his handcuffs for the occasion.

McGee scanned the rooftops of the buildings across the street, looking for the telltale glint of a firearm hitting the sunlight. His own SIG-Sauer P228 rested on his hip, and a smaller version of the same gun was concealed under his right pant leg. He knew Ziva, standing next to him, was armed to the teeth, and had once told him that she had found more creative places to hide knives than he could possibly imagine. He was hoping they wouldn't need any of them today.

"Ten o'clock," Tony whispered, avoiding staring at the man across the street.

"Rule 35." Gibbs muttered. Rule 35- Always watch the watchers. The man was wearing a hunter green hoodie pulled up over his head, concealing his face from view. He had his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. One of his pockets had a rather suspiciously- shaped object in it. "Go, Ziva."

Ziva crossed the street quickly, but casually, trying not to attract too much attention. She didn't particularly feel like running this guy down. She walked behind him and put a hand on the gun at her hip. "Federal agent."

The suspect turned to run, but Ziva grabbed his right arm, wrenched it backwards, and pinned him up against a tree. "Nice try. Hand out of your pocket. Now." When he hesitated, she grabbed his other hand for him and jammed it behind his back. She slipped on a set of handcuffs and turned him around, pulling the hood back.

"Commander Byers?" Commander Byers was Petty Officer Reynolds' CO, and apparently, their latest suspect. Ziva jammed her hand in his right pocket and pulled out a small revolver. She held it up and glanced across the street at Gibbs, who nodded. She led him to the convenience store parking lot and pushed him into the car.

"What's the plan?" she asked. "How are you gonna do it? Why Keith Harchman? What's so special about him?"

The commander just shrugged. "Watch him." Ziva motioned for one of the local leos they had brought as backup to keep an eye on the commander. "Carefully," she added and jogged back across the street to Gibbs and the rest of the team.

"He wouldn't say anything,"she muttered. "But he knows." Gibbs nodded. He knew that something was about to go down, but he didn't know when or why or how.

* * *

Gibbs' cell phone rang just as Harchman was being loaded into the back of the transport van. "Hang on a second," he said to the driver, who nodded.

"What do ya got, Abbs?" he asked.

"It's something so super- massively important that it might just blow your brain into teeny, tiny, little-"

"Abbs." Gibbs said.

"Oh. Sorry, Gibbs. Okay, so I was running members of Operation Jaguar through pretty much every database that I have access to and I got a hit."

"What is it?"

"It's one of the guards, Gibbs. He matched facial recognition I ran on the DC Central staff. He was one of the first people to ever receive the procedure that was being researched in Jaguar and he was supposedly hired yesterday."

"Who is it?" Gibbs asked impatiently, motioning to McGee, Tony, and Ziva to get behind the van.

"Retired Naval Officer Michael Taft."

"Nice work, Abbs."

"Get out of the van, Taft!" Gibbs yelled, drawing his gun. At his nod, McGee threw open the back door and the other agents pulled out their guns. They were met with the sight of the elderly guard holding a gun to Keith Harchman's head.

"I swear I know nothing about this little stunt," Harchman chuckled sarcastically, holding up his hands.

"Put the gun down, Taft," Ziva called. "I have a clear shot, boss."

"Negative, don't take it. We need him alive," Gibbs said. "Put it down."

"You do it first," Taft spat, his hand shaking in rage.

"Alright," Gibbs said, holstering his gun and motioning for his team to do the same. "Your turn."

"Do I smell a deal coming my way?"

"Not if you keep holding a gun to my head, asshole," Harchman muttered. Michael Taft dropped the gun and kicked it to the end of the truck.

"Get out," DiNozzo said, cuffing him.

* * *

"Where's Taft?" DiNozzo asked as Gibbs walked back into the squad room.

"Interrogation."

"How does Operation Jaguar fit into all this? Ziva, talk."

Ziva clicked her mouse and a couple of documents and an assortment of pictures shot onto the plasma. "Operation Jaguar. Started March 8, 1998 and ended June 14, 2002. Doctors injected Navy divers with a compound that made their cells more resistant to water and oxygen and nitrogen saturation. The project resulted in little success due to the fact that the procedure caused too many side effects to be beneficial to the Navy."

"We know Reynolds was killed for his pass to DC Central. What does Jaguar have to do with this?" Gibbs sipped on his coffee and looked over the documents Ziva had on the screen.

"Although this technology wasn't successful in the use of Navy divers, near the end of the project, researchers were trying to find other uses for it."

McGee jumped in. "The reason Abby had such a hard time identifying it was because it is 100% man made, and it was an early precursor to nanotechnology that scientists are using today."

"So it's worth a lot of money?" Gibbs asked.

"Millions," McGee confirmed. "The project was shut down in 2002 because it was killing more people than it was helping. A break- in occurred at one of the central labs used in the project, and some of the tech was stolen. It was suspected that further research was continued underground after the official end of the operation, but nothing was ever confirmed."

"What if the petty officer was like an old car to whoever killed him?" Ziva asked. "All these leads don't really fit together, but what if the killer got what he needed, and took everything else valuable about First Class Petty Officer Reynolds and sold it to the highest bidder?"

"They killed him for parts," Gibbs muttered. "Nice work."

* * *

Ziva sat at her desk, relieved that the rest of the team thought her theory was valid. It was the only one that made sense to her. Operation Jaguar and the attempt to break Harchman's brother out of jail on the way to the courthouse had nothing to do with each other. The Petty Officer was involved in a lot of highly classified operations, and it only made sense that the killer wanted to take advantage of everything he was involved in.

Taft wasn't the killer. She and Gibbs both knew that. But he was involved- he had bought the intel from someone. He also had to have purchased the card somewhere, because Abby proved that he didn't actually work for DC Central- he was an imposter using Reynold's access card.

McGee walked into the squad room and sat down at his computer, typing rapidly. "What is it, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"I've been trying to track the online sales of the intel sold by the killer. Call Gibbs." McGee put an assortment of documents up on the plasma. Ziva pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gibbs' number.

"Gibbs, you're on speakerphone," she called, setting the phone on a filing cabinet below the screen.

"Talk," he replied.

"Boss, I've been trying to track the buyers and seller of the intel recovered after Reynolds's death and I think I've got something."

"Go."

"Most of the intel was sold on a website called . It's fronted as a website for people to anonymously exchange secrets via an instant messaging system, but if you type in a specific URL, you have the option of becoming a platinum member."

"Get to the point, McGee."

"Yes, Boss." McGee nodded at Ziva and she clicked the mouse. A new screen popped up, advertising a subscription to the website for $30 a month. "Instant messaging is a feature available for both guests and platinum members, but when you pay the membership fee, you gain access to secure private chat rooms. I've been searching through some of them, and it turns out that our petty officer wasn't only a victim. He started selling intel on this site about 6 months prior to his death."

"Nice work, McGee. Take DiNozzo- talk to whoever runs the site. Ziva- go talk to Taft."

* * *

"Yes, Boss," they echoed, and hung up.

"You knew Petty Officer Reynolds was selling intel." Ziva leaned across the interrogation table and slammed a picture down in front of the aging guard.

"I did no such thing, young lady," Taft smirked, readjusting his ballcap that read 'Prison Security'.

"You did."

"Did not."

"I know you did! Take a look at that picture! It's a screenshot of a private chatroom that documents you and Reynolds exchanging account numbers to make a deal! We've got dozens more like them with the two of you trading intel and making money!"

"You can't prove that screen name is mine." Taft crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, tipping the front two legs off the ground.

"Actually, we can." Ziva strode to the other side of the table and placed both hands on either side of the suspect's chair. "We accessed your email account and matched it with the one you used to sign up for the website. We also analyzed your Internet history and one of my colleagues has determined that the messages were sent from your laptop."

"My email was hacked."

"Prove it."

"Look at me. Do you think I know anything about all this cyber- tech stuff?"

"I think you know enough to organize an online community that focuses on the trade of classified government intel. Does Operation Jaguar ring any bells?" She pushed down on the chair and it slammed to the ground with a loud crash.

Taft paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I'd like to talk about that deal."

"Why would we give you a deal if we don't know that you have anything useful to say?" Ziva drummed her fingers on the table and looked into the man's face. She had him backed into a corner.

"I think I want my lawyer now."

* * *

Gibbs had made up his mind. He was going to break Rule #1.. again. Never let suspects stay together. When they were together, suspects usually did one of two things. They a) kept trying to blame the others or b) took the opportunity to change their story together. Breaking the rule had some benefits though, if done in the right way. That's where Rule #51 came into play- sometimes, you're wrong.


	3. Chapter Three

Gibbs opened the door to Interrogation Room Two. Three chairs had been arranged- one for him, one for Taft and one for Commander Byers. Gibbs strode into the room, nodded at Ziva leaning against the glass, and motioned for Commander Byers to take a seat. The two suspects didn't look at each other.

"I take it you two know each other," Gibbs said, opening the case file he had brought with him.

"Never seen him before in my life," the commander replied gruffly, pulling on his hoodie strings.

"Really? Well, then why were you standing across the street with a revolver while Taft here was trying to break Harchman out of jail?" Ziva asked. Gibbs pulled out a surveillance photo DiNozzo had snapped while Ziva crossed the street.

Byers started to open his mouth and then shut it again. "You do have the right to remain silent, commander," Gibbs said. "But I would prefer that you didn't."

Taft jumped in. "He was supposed to distract the driver once he pulled into an alley around the corner while I got Harchman out of the van."

"Would you shut up, you idiot?" Byers screamed, lunging at the other suspect. Ziva was between the two men before Gibbs could blink, and was applying quite a bit of force to a pressure point on his shoulder. She held it until Gibbs nodded and released the breathless suspect.

"Geez, lady," Byers grumbled, rubbing his shoulder.

"You're lucky you don't have cuffs on," Ziva replied.

"You can't prove that I was in on that. I have my concealed carry permit- the Constitution grants me the right to carry a weapon," Taft said.

"Yes it does," Gibbs nodded. "But we can prove you were in on it." He pulled a small stack of photos and spread them out on the table. "These are more screenshots of conversations on the website between the two of you."

Ziva jumped in to help Gibbs with all the 'technological mumbo- jumbo' as he called it. She was no McGee, but she was certainly more skilled in this area than her boss. "These conversations took place in password- protected chat rooms that only you two had access to due to your platinum membership. They detail pretty much all the dirt we've been able to dig up on you, Reynolds, and the commander. Wanna fill us in before we dig any deeper?"

For the first time since entering the room, the two suspects looked at each other. Byers finally spoke. "The plan was to break Keith Harchman out of jail today in order for him to gain access to secure files on Reynolds' computer. He was an expert hacker. We wanted more intel on Jaguar than Reynolds was willing to give."

"So you killed him for it." Gibbs was trying to fill in the blanks.

"No!" Taft clarified. "We didn't kill anyone. But, I got a message on the website with a link to another secure chat room. I logged onto that one a few hours later and found a list of instructions waiting for me. It was a detailed list explaining how to gain access to the files and what to do once I got in."

"What role did you play in this?" Ziva asked Byers.

"I was the messenger. I would get messages similar to Taft's telling me where and to drop off the files- paper copies only. We both got paid."

"Do either of you actually know what Jaguar is?" Gibbs asked.

"No." Byers confirmed Gibbs' suspicion. "The files were all written in a high-level encryption code. We were told not to compromise the intel, and we never did."

"We needed Keith. Once we got to a certain point, the hacking skills required were way above our heads. Harchman was a master at stuff like this," Taft said.

"And I guess since you don't have him now, you haven't been able to hack your way into any more files?" Ziva asked. The men both shook their heads.

"When's your next drop?" Gibbs asked.

"Tomorrow morning. 6:00," Byers said. "Hotel lobby across town."

"Who do you work for?"

"I don't know," the commander answered, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

"I said, who do you work for?" Gibbs presses, his voice growing in volume.

"We've never met him!" Taft said. "It's all done via chatroom."

"Looks like you know more about computers than you let on," Ziva smirked.

Gibbs and Ziva walked back into the empty squad room. His phone rang and he picked up on the second ring, placing it on speakerphone. "Talk, McGee."

"Tony and I just got done talking to Monica Johnson- the website manager. She said that as a part of their contract with platinum members, they do not monitor the password-protected chat rooms. She said it's the only way to gain their trust and sell more memberships."

"Is there a point, McGee?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"Yeah, sorry boss. Johnson said that they do, however, monitor the instant messaging system and every message sent gets placed on record."

"We already have a transcript of the IM's, McGee," Ziva pointed out.

"I know. But, the point is, so do they. Johnson picked up on the chatter and reported it to the authorities. Guess who's in charge of the investigation?"

"Fornell. And McGee?" Gibbs said before his agent was about to hang up.

"Rule #6."

"Got it, boss." Rule #6- Never say you're sorry. It's a sign of weakness.

An hour later, Gibbs and Fornell stepped into the elevator together. As soon as it started to ascend, Gibbs reached across his friend and killed the power on the elevator.

"When were ya gonna tell me, Tobias?"

"Tell you what, Gibbs?" Fornell asked, wondering what he had done wrong this time.

"When were you gonna tell me about the chatter you guys picked up on ?"

"It was need to know, Gibbs. And you didn't need to know."

"Well, I need to know now, Tobias."

"Alright. I had a couple of my cyber agents monitoring online chatter after we got an anonymous tip pointing to an active terror cell. We tracked them through a private messaging site."

"Let me guess. ."

"You guessed it."

"Yeah, well now we've got a dead guy whose government secrets are being sold on that website." Gibbs' cell phone rang. Fornell reached across him and flipped the power switch on the elevator, hearing it hum back to life as it took them both back up to the squad room.

It was McGee. "Boss, I've been tracking local activity on the website and I just got a hit. Someone logged onto Petty Officer Reynolds' account three minutes ago. Someone's using his account to sell intel even after he's dead."

"Where, McGee?" Gibbs asked impatiently, watching the numbers on the elevator wall slowly tick upwards as them climber floors painfully slow.

Gibbs heard his agent typing furiously in the background. "Running a trace now."

The elevator dinged and the doors parted. Both agents strode into the bullpen and Gibbs beelined for McGee's desk. "The signal is coming from the corner of West and 9th."

"Gear up."

The team arrived at the scene minutes later. The car's tires squealed to a halt as Gibbs, McGee, DiNozzo, and Ziva jumped out of the car. Tony scanned the scene. They had conveniently arrived at an Internet cafe. They walked across the street, zipping up their coats against the biting wind. As they strode in the cafe, the team spread out, glancing behind people to get a glimpse of their computer screens.

McGee spied someone trying to pack up their things in a hurry, and walked over to a table situated in the corner of the cafe by a fireplace. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked, placing a hand on the man's forearm. The man grabbed McGee's hand and spun around, launching the agent towards the fireplace with all of his weight. McGee managed to twist and avoid the bulk of the structure, but slammed his hand against some of the hot bricks close to the fire.

He cried out and jerked his hand away from the fireplace. "McGee!" Gibbs yelled from across the cafe.

"Red hoodie!" McGee yelled, holding his injured hand close to his body. He groaned as he stood up and watched the rest of his team tackle the suspect to the ground, cuff him, and lead him outside.

"Let me see," Gibbs said as Tony and Ziva were busy escorting the suspect to the car and documenting his personal belongings so they could go to Abby.

"Boss, I'm fine," McGee said, not wanting anyone to know how bad it really did hurt.

Gibbs just glared at him. "Lemme see."

McGee blew out a big breath long and slow as he uncurled his burnt hand. The red and skin was peeling off in some parts and was radiating heat as it began to blister.

"Get that checked out, McGee."

The agent shook his head. "At least go see Ducky. That's an order."

Ziva walked into the squad room to McGee grumbling under his breath as he tried to type at his computer.

"What is wrong, McGee?" she asked.

"It's impossible to type with this stupid thing." He held up his right hand hand that the NCIS ME had so generously decked out in fluffy gauze and white medical tape.

"It looks like a snowball," Ziva smiled, walking over to her friend's desk.

"Fa la la la la," McGee grumbled.

"Don't be such a grinch," Ziva said. "On the bright side, it looks like we have a real suspect."

"Yeah?"

"Abby identified him as Mr. Renan Walsh. He works in the private sector developing computer software for the Navy."

"What kind of software?" McGee asked.

"Secure communications networks."

"Call Gibbs."

"No need to call, McGee. Go." Gibbs and Tony walked into the squad room together. The whole team gathered around the plasma.

"Boss, I've been sifting through all the conversations Walsh has had on the website and they all look to be related to our case. He's made countless deals selling Navy intelligence online in the password- secured chatrooms. The thing about those chat rooms is that although they're secure against the average user, anyone with a basic knowledge in hacking could get in."

"The point?"

"The point is that I tried hacking into his chat rooms without being logged onto his account, and I haven't been able to get in yet."

"You a little off your game today, McBooboo?" Tony asked, raising his right hand and wagging it back and forth. He was rewarded with a head slap from the team's leader.

"I think he used some of the software he was developing at Wichter Inc to secure the chatroom."

"Tony, McGee- pay Wichter Inc a visit. Ziva- with me in Interrogation."


End file.
